


Badger Tales: The Red Hood

by uragani



Series: The Forgotten History of Earth-72 [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics), Red Hood: Lost Days
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Earth-72, F/M, Gen, Gotham is not a Nice Place, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Jason Todd is Robin, Jason-Centric, Look it spans most of Jason's life, M/M, Most of the Batfam really, Multi, NaNoWriMo, NaNoWriMo 2k15, Off-Screen Canon-Typical Crimes, Other, Resurrected Jason Todd, So all the tags for that okay?, The DC Universe is not a nice place
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-04 09:22:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5328959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uragani/pseuds/uragani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason Todd's illustrious life within the confines of the Earth-72 Universe, starting with his birth and ending somewhere around never. This covers the time he is within his own universe, and the events that take place within it through his eyes, and occasionally Bruce's. It's as close to canon as I can manage, excepting the things that RP and taste have changed and of course whatever I as a reader read into it. Uhm, I don't know how to make this sound appealing. Uh, Jason's got a crush on everybody and is a huge fucking dork and there's a lot of feels and PAIN? Okay, okay, come read.</p><p>Tags brought to you because Jason was technically a kiddy hooker, did die, but came back, and then managed to beat the shit out of... just so many people. So let's be safe. Fic in progress still but is over 50k in notes and scenes for now. same as my usual NaNoWriMo stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Childhood Memories

The story starts in Gotham. After all, Gotham was a birthplace for all sorts of stories, ranging from the good to the bad. This was one of them.

Once upon a time there was a couple named Willis and Sheila, who since they lived in the aforementioned Gotham had a bunch of statistics leering over their shoulders in terms of safety and happiness. Before the statistics proved themselves ever present however, they managed to produce a child. Although rumor has it the only reason the child came to term was because Sheila had a similar opinion to those who worked fast food. Once you see where the food is prepared, you don't want to eat there anymore, and in her case she'd been on the doctor end of enough illegal back alley abortions to say, "boy, you know, that doesn't seem safe". So instead, they had a bouncing baby boy they named, after some debate, Jason Peter Todd.

Sheila then spent a few weeks in that happy post-drugged-out-of-her-mind daze that came with "the good stuff" then went back to work. Not a month or two later, she grabbed a plane to Ethiopia clutching a suitcase, some cash, and her maiden name. Apparently not even Gothamites were entirely pleased with a 'Lady Butcher' since she'd gone and botched an illegal abortion on a 14-year-old, and well, she just _couldn't_ have that on her hands. You understand, don't you Willis _dear_?

Willis, in fact, did _not_ particularly understand why that meant he had to stay behind, with a kid. Especially a kid whose fatherhood was in question after finding ma's little black date book, but luckily after a few years the kid's little nose came in and nobody could say he wasn't the striking image of his old pops. Before then though, he had a drooling, milk drinking, useless, mewling lump that pissed and shat itself with some regularity. What was a guy to do?

In his case, he seduced him a dame. More to the point, he begged his neighbor to keep an eye on the kid while he ran a few scams and got picked up by the ever competent Two Face for a few bigger jobs. Diapers were apparently expensive. Catherine, the dame in question, agreed because just then Jason curled in his dad's arms turned and blew a spit bubble, popped it, and giggled while grabbing for her like a little angel. She fell in love, and that was history. Later on she fell in love with Willis too, and Willis was as surprised as any of us.

More surprised maybe because he wasn't the best man, wasn't the best husband either, when he married later in a little function at her family's church. Her mother would have risen, and caused hell to rain down on her if she'd ignored tradition after all and Willis didn't mess with no mother-in-laws dead or not. He did try to be a good husband and father though, at least for the first few years. Took little Jason to the chop shop with him sometimes, showed him all the tricks. Kid was a bright little learner, could get tires off a car in under 2 minutes, and jimmying a lock? Forget about it, anything that could be popped, hot-wired, or walked off with was prime picking for that kid, once he had the know how to do it. He devoured information like a sponge and Willis was deeply proud of the kid with the bright calculating blue eyes.

The problem was, the reason Willis liked his boss Two Face so much was he empathized with him. While on one hand he tried to do good by the kid, even if he _was_ taking him in among the scum of the city to do it, on the other hand sometimes... he drank. And then the kid's little smart mouth would end up being the reason he was wearing a black eye the next morning. One he got from walking into a door knob, especially if the cops ask, you hear me? Don't make me give you a matchin' one boy! When Willis wasn't drinking or trying to be a dad, he was however more often than not the fall guy for many schemes that weren't his problem to begin with. But he got paid pretty well for his stints in prison, and occasionally took out a guy on the inside for a bonus, so it wasn't all bad.

Sweet little Catherine, love of his life, and doting wife would get letters telling her of his most recent jail time, ones that were always the same yellow color and typewriter font that Jason could spot from the table and he'd just know ma wasn't going to have a good week. Crying, lonely... it started with drinking, like Willis did but with less hitting and more crying. It got worse the more he was missing. She got into some harder stuff, just to make Mommy sleep better honey bear. Then the letters started getting further apart, and since the money wasn't so good so they moved down into the Narrows, right near Park Row. Where the good dealers hung out near Robinson Park so ma could catch her fix. Just go to bed Jason, turn up your music sweetie and don't listen. Mommy'll be fine.

That was life then. With the mattresses on the floor, and the shutters ripped off the windows. With the cracks in the wall and the mold growing, and the chill in Winter. With Mom laying there, a bit of rubber around one arm, and out like a light in another world Jason sure as hell knew he never wanted to join in on. Not even if it might have been nice not to think about things, he couldn't, because he had her to protect. Even if the letters had stopped years ago, after a prison sentence that couldn't have been this long, and it was clear Willis had run off on them both. Piece of shit that he was. Even if sometimes there was a shadow across the moon and he let himself believe that the oft whispered Batman and Robin were out there, taking out his Mom's dealer so he wouldn't have to buy her stuff anymore. He smelled like stale cologne all the time anyways and made him sneeze.

"I hurt a guy today mom," he said after coming home with meager groceries he scraped up from here and there, his ma wasn't the only one who could make spare cash any old way. He swallowed, his voice soft like he was in church, confessing his sins to the all-but-corpse laying there silently, "He tried to take our food, and I hit him. And I kept hitting him, over and over, and over... and then there was blood. He got up and ran away, but..." a nine year old curled up at the foot of a mattress talking to a woman who could have been a porcelain doll if you ignored the track marks, "Am I a bad person?" The tears tracked marks down his cheeks and he curled up tight watching her chest move, "... I wish you'd stop takin' that stuff Mom. I miss when we could talk. I miss you."

He missed her more when the next morning when she was cool to the touch and her chest had stopped that smooth up and down glide. It seemed like that last batch she got him to help her shoot up with was a little stronger than she thought. He never stopped wondering if he'd done it wrong, if he'd--

Growing up was hard in the city, in the niches and corners where the dirt and the rats wanted to claim the darkness as much as _you_ didn't wanna get bit all to hell. It wasn't like it was a choice though, or uncommon. If you were like Jay, you moved into an old condemned brownstone the East End didn't wanna look at anymore, ducked the wooden slats on the windows and doors, and set up shop. You did it knowing you'd have to take off in a few months when city planning committee stopped dragging their heels and took a ball and chain through a wall some fine morning. You did it because you had to have a little pride and take care of your place and don't take no charity you didn't earn. Just had to scrape up a little dough. Had to try even if you weren't even old enough to do doing what you _were_ doing for scratch.

So what, he had a hard beginning, a hard life, lost both parents. He could steal tires, and sell them off for a pretty penny each. More if he got a set. That loser Pops of his didn't leave him without a few marketable skills, and he could always get the working girls on the corner to pinch off a bill or two from their salary when he was starving. They liked him because some nights when he wasn't there as one of them, he'd hang around and keep an eye on them instead. A little nine-year-old bulldog scaring off creeps with a loud shrill voice and sharp little teeth that more often than not got him knocked to the side. But it gave the girls time to get their pimp on the horn to take care of this asshole, and they respected a little fighter who kept getting back up and yelling for their sake and nothing else.

Then one fine June 26th, right in the middle of Crime Alley, he stole the tires off the Batmobile. Bright idea right? One night of the year where every low down sleaze is off the streets because they know the Bat doesn't have time for their shit. Real bright though, because he was ten, and lean, and fast. Because he could see the disengaged security system and how to get past the ill-fitting hub caps. There were no creeps around to sneak up on him, or take his kill either. Nah, this was the one glorious night a year a kid like him could go down the street rolling a spare tire, and nobody would touch him. It was a bright idea, it was a fantastic idea. He could sell those tires to the highest bidder. Collectibles. Could survive in luxury.

The stupid treads had little bats. He'd never get over that, not even years later when it finally actually _clicked_ that the weird little swoopy design were little interlaced _bats_.

Three tires, three trips rolling them home, and not a single soul hassled him. Three tires, three trips, and he had thousands of dollars worth of rubber pushed into his apartment and neatly stacked by his bed. Just one of those tires could have fed him for a month. Just two and he could afford to gamble a little, maybe make more. Get a guy to bid on some horses or world series. Maybe he could have made something of himself with cash behind him. A full set though? All four tires off the Bat's ride without a bruise to speak of? Leaving that fucker's sweet ride on cement blocks in the middle of Gotham like a god damn fool, and having the tires to prove he did it? He'd be Jason Todd, Child King of the Streets. Legends would be spoken about the wheelbarrow he needed to carry his balls. In short, there was no fucking way he was walking away from this shit without four in hand, what did he look like, a chicken?

Too bad those tires were probably made in China anyways, because four being an unlucky number there totally followed them here. He'd just gotten the damn nuts off the last one when the spook on the streets showed up behind him. Well, okay it was worse than that. Jason'd actually walked right up on the hero, after hearing an odd noise. He found him kneeling to inspect the damage behind the car's main body. He didn't even see the Bat on those dark streets, and that probably explained how he got the drop on so many criminals.

"Whoops," it slipped out before he could stop himself and the man crouching in full costume turned his face up and did something Jason would never in a million years think he'd see. He flashed him his pearly whites in a smile instead of absolute rage.

"Well, come to finish the job boy?" He asked him, and Jason's quick little mind said, let's hide the tire iron behind our back. Didn't help much. Batman loomed up, looking down on him with that same god damn confident look the teachers used to give him before he ditched schooling entirely, "You're going to give me back my tires."

"Who says I took 'em huh?" The snappy remark was out of his mouth before he could think. This is why Willis smacked him. Batman's mouth quirked slightly, He wasn't even trying to hide his amusement, well Jason was sure fucking _happy_ he gave the guy a _glad-on_ by being caught, goodness gracious. No wonder he pranced around in tights bashing heads for a living, seemed like his kinda thing. 

"What else is the tire iron for?" the man asked, looking smug with a hand on his hip. You knew the tone, the tone was every god damn adult who thought he knew everything getting one up on a kid who didn't think their witticisms through. Jason didn't even think before he was swinging the cold metal bar in his hands, into the big boob's stupid stomach as hard as he could just to prove him wrong, just to take that edge back.

"THIS!" he snapped in witty reply, as the man's eyes hidden or not grew wide at the sudden attack from what he clearly thought was a kid about as threatening as a wet sock. Well, Jason had another idea of himself, and the guy under that mask better get used to it. On the other hand, he who fights and runs away, lives to stay-the-fuck-out-of-Batman's-way-next-time-he-comes-around-asking-after-that-kid-who-sells-tires, if you knew what he meant. So he turned on a squeaky old sneaker, and took off like a shot into the city.

Fast fast, heart beating in his chest like the predictable thud thud of the cleaning trucks knocking over the trash cans every stupid Wednesday because that asshole across the street never remembered to take them in. Thud thudding fit to burst as he took a corner, and looked at the tire iron in his hand and decided to keep this lucky thing forever. He was naming it something radical the second he set foot in his home. He twisted and turned and took the long way, even crawled under some stuff and waited. He went up a fire escape, slid down a water pipe across a building roof, and nearly got hit by some defensive old lady. He got home, and climbed into his little hole in the wall, looking behind himself every three seconds because he was still wired, but tired, and really really needing some nicotine.

He threw the tire iron on his bed, and slowly crawled in, spreading out on his back for a few long seconds where he decided that they were wrong. Crime really did pay, in excitement. He scrabbled for the plastic covered cardboard box, pulling out a paper wrapped demon and slid it between his lips to light up with a gas station lighter some guy still swears he set down only a minute ago. Intake, smooth, hold it. Calming, nicotine rushing through his body, and then out, a bit of smoke rising from his nostrils like a dragon. A nice innocent little vice that was a hell of a lot better than what some of the kids around here did. At least you couldn't overdose on cigs, far as he knew.

"That'll stunt your growth kid," the graveled voice said from his doorway and Jason figured that swallowing your own tongue and a heart attack would both stunt his growth too. By the simple expedient of fucking killing him. He had about e-fucking-nough of this though, he was on his feet in a second, failure raising his hackles.

He started gesturing angrily across the room and felt his heart drop as inside he gave up, understood he couldn't win for all his blustering, "Take your lousy tires already and go-- just lemme alone!" he snarled. Seeing him twice, knowing he could have done something really nasty to him, and that he couldn't run nor hide? It made him mad, really god damn mad. Some guy he thought was keeping an eye on him, just a little bit here and there, and he's this guy. Some pajama wearing stalker with a voice that sounded like he was forcing it deeper and angrier when really he had kind of a sweet lilt to it. This wasn't the monster protecting him he was promised at all. This was some jerk who used his power against anybody and make them look like a cheap trick, a fucking fool. He felt like dirt, and he just wanted him gone, wanted his victory to stop feeling like ash in his mouth. So much for eating this week.

Batman however, was turning around, looking his place over. It made his skin crawl to have some uninvited guest looking at the things he treasured and scraped together like it was just trash. He'd managed to set up a living room, a bedroom, he even had carpets for God's sake. A sound system, CD's, magazines, and band posters. Sure it was a little broken down, cracks in the walls, maybe a little bare in places and cold in winter... But it was his room! His life! And this guy... looked down on it. Like everyone else. Looked prissy and uncomfortable anyone could live like this, like it was squalor and not his prideful patch of land made up just how he wanted it. Never meet your heroes kid. 

"Son-- do you... live here?" yeah, he didn't even have the accent that came from this neck of the woods did he, too high and pinchy. Shoulda figured a guy with that kinda car was rich all the way through, some rich asshole in a cape.

"Yeah! What of it?" Jason snapped when the nerve got touched, "it's mine, and I like it." He didn't have the  _right_.

The Batman seemed to relent, changing his stance consciously to seem less imposing. Like he needed to, Jason's respect for the man was steadily falling, "Where are your folks?"

Great, this line of questioning again, he rattled it off like it was rout memorization, "I don't know where my pop is. Doin' time again, most likely." He couldn't help the sulky little quip either, the man had disappeared too much for him to give a real flying fuck anymore. Willis was gone. That was it. So much the better.

"And your mother?" Jason hesitated ever so slightly, and turned to look behind him where the man's gaze had fallen. Last picture he really had of her, the one they used at her funeral. He'd stolen it, he deserved it. It was his mother. Not like her cute little friends from school faking tears were gonna claim blood like he could. or like they couldn't afford a piece of shiny paper in a frame.

"She's dead," he said after a moment, pursing his lips as he looked her in the eyes, "She got sick. Okay?" His temper rose up again and he turned on the man angrily, stepping forwards towards him aggressively. Batman didn't flinch, of course he didn't, "Now get outta here! Or do I have to make you leave?" There was no backing down, Jason swung at him, praying he'd be lucky twice-- actually you know what? He didn't. Actually, he _didn't_ pray or hope. He just charged at the man, ready to shove and kick and bite until he was out of his home, out of his life, out of his everything so he could just forget all the bullshit he'd had to do that night. He wasn't even gonna make any money off this. All this pain for nothin', he had to hurt him, he just wanted to rip and shred and-- and then he was dangling from one arm in the air.

"You're a scrappy one, I'll say that much for you..." Batman said, a smile in his voice that made Jason try to kick him in the chest in desperate anger. He got held out further, red and embarrassed by the fact that he was so small the man could literally hold him up with one arm. Yeah, but he'd got him earlier hadn't he, belted him one hard enough to take him down. Size didn't matter. Even if he was making him feel useless and outranked in every possible way. Made it hard to fight when you felt like nothing you did mattered. He went limp in his grip and Batman slowly lowered him down.

His shoes touched the ground again, and Batman knelt in front of him like a kid, another stupid bit of condensation or whatever, " _You're_ going to help me wheel these back, and no more fighting. I don't think I want another bruise from you tonight!"

Jason looked at him sidelong, a pout poking out his lower lip to cover for the faint hope for his pride, bruising Batman, that's... not bad, "Yeah, whatever, sooner you're outta my hair the better. People gonna start askin' me questions if I pal around with the likes of you."

The laugh sounded like the one he'd heard on the streets just before running into him, and it made him miss a beat as two and two made four. Batman truly hadn't been angry at finding his buggy with one good leg. He'd been sitting on that cement looking at the damage and laughing over it. He never had been in danger, the big guy was actually amused by him stealing things, even before he'd seen who he was. He was properly stunned after that, helping push the tires out to his fire escape and lowering them down to the man who took them like they were nothing, even when Jason struggled to heft it up and over the edge, just to let them drop the five feet to the street.

"I'm afraid it isn't enough to just give me back my property-- " Batman said, breaking the quiet, and Jason's shoulders slumped. He kept rolling the tire in front of him, not looking at the man who was carrying his own effortlessly. He had real muscles under the suit he would have had to work for, he'd give him that. He licked his lips, rolling around ideas of what Batman was gonna ask for in payment, but he figured he wasn't going to go the sleazebag route. Nah, what would a hero do instead?

"You're gonna fink to the cops, huh? Figures," Jason was bothered by the defeat in his own voice, and Batman cleared his throat, cutting him off at the pass.

He shook his head, and the cowl squeaked slightly from whatever the thing was made out of, "Not the cops. I think we _do_ have to tell the juvenile authorities about you..."

Social workers, god damn it, Jason stiffened and turned on him again, "I can fend for myself just fine! I know how to make it on the streets-- and I like it there!" he turned back to the tires, furiously pushing them forwards while complaining loudly, trying to dissuade him of the stupid god damn idea, "I don't want to wind up in some crummy orphanage, or some foster home where I'm somebody's pet charity case."

Jason stopped, standing tall, showing his teeth in a grimace and jutted his thumb at himself, "I'm my own man! Me, Jason Todd!"

Batman watched him quietly, setting his tires down to lean against the car next to Jason's, "Jason Todd huh? Pretty slick handle for a street kid." He must have realized how quickly that was going to be taken as an insult, because the topic changed along with his tone again. Faster this time, he was picking up Jason's reactions, learning his personality, "How long was your mother sick?"

The topic that made him deflate a little last time. Like he wasn't smart enough to pick up on that tactic. He looked to the ground, counting stepped on gum spots ground so deep into the cement it was impossible to scour them out now, "Over a year-- " his hands found his pockets as he scuffed uselessly with the toe of his shoe and his voice dropped low, "I found her food and stuff-- kept her warm-- and alive... long as I could." He stopped moving, stuck in his head for a minute while Batman watched, then stood slowly. Maybe Jason saw the gesture, the manipulation, but it didn't stop it from working when he thought of her. What he'd done.

He didn't even move when Batman put a gauntlet covered hand on his shoulder, "What about school, son?" The tone was different, Jason could hear that, pity and something else. Acceptance? Recognition? He didn't need that. He didn't need school either, bunch of stuck-up know-it-alls.

Jason swiped at the hand on his shoulder lightly, not up to another fight where he'd just get tossed around and reminded he could get manhandled out here, "I graduated a long time ago-- from the streets of Crime Alley." It sounded stale, reused to even his own ears. Sounded like a thousand punk-ass kids on TV trying to sound cool, but it was true too. What could school teach him that would help with his life out here? School never helped him before, only the teachings his loser pops passed down trying to keep him busy.

"I can't leave you as you are," Batman started, watching him with a tilted head, "Okay, we'll make a deal... No social workers. No cops. But you have to go to school."

"What school?"

"Ma Gunn's School For Boys-- Right here on Crime Alley."

"Well I hear that's better than real school... What's the catch?" Jason asked, studying him with eyes gone stormy dark with judgement. He knew this type of deal, some stupid backhanded way to force him into the system if he fucked up, some way to make him make it his own fault.

"You don't keep your grades up, I visit, we talk," he watched Jason's face contort is annoyance, "A _lot_. About _everything_."

The kid raised his hands, shifting a step or two back from what sounded less imposing than it should and more affectionately bullying, "Okay, okay..." He thought for a moment, "Ain't a bad deal, three hots and a cot-- but with a private bathroom and like, less shankin' I guess."

"I should hope," the voice was monotone but Jason swore it was a joke, and not just a bleak outlook on life. It was hard to pick up though, you had to know a guy they'd say about it, had to learn to pick up the sarcasm and read it for what it was.

Jason studied him for a long time after that, considering, then spit on his palm before outstretching it to the dark cloaked man, "Deal, but if I go missin' you don't look for me. If I can't hack it, I ain't gonna be bullied into livin' a life that ain't for me."

Batman took a long look at the wet palm before spitting small and careful into his own, which to be honest shocked Jason to no end, and took it shaking firmly, "Unless you commit another crime. Then you're back on the menu." Jason shivered, he could deal with that. Maybe this time he could outrun him.


	2. Ma Gunn's

Riding in the Batmobile was as interesting as the series of latches that unhooked the tires. Complex and dark, and-- Batman. It smelled like him really, as creepy as that sounded. But it was true, Batman smelled a little bit like some guy who'd been giving himself a light workout, deep under the ever present scent of rubber or uh, something constructed-not-born. (The something was kevlar, not that he knew what that was yet.) The car smelled downright brand new, with a hint of copper tang and old antiseptic, old bandages. Good to know, Batman could get wounded like anybody else, or at least treated people who were wounded. Well he knew that he could get hurt already, but he hadn't exactly drawn blood during his little bit of rebellion.

Ma Gunn's school loomed up and Jason felt the hum of fear, pulling his little bag of important possessions closer to his stomach. He still felt forced into this deal. He chanced a glance at Batman, taking in the quiet way he was watching him. He didn't... want to go. It'd taken maybe an hour before he recognized that Batman wasn't even reasonably scary, he was just heavy and oppressive, and genuinely worried about him. He didn't know Ma Gunn, he didn't know what would happen behind those doors but he felt reasonably sure with Batman instead, he would be okay.

The dark knight gets out of the car first, and Jason heaves the softest sigh as he hauls himself out to follow as if it were a cue, he sticks near Batman, not cowering, just close like a shadow watching the building with a cool blue stare. The man rapped on the door with gauntleted knuckles, and after a bit of noise, the elderly woman known as Ma Gunn opened the door, unlatching it curiously. A night with no crime, she'd been out not long before, and she hadn't thought anyone would pay a call tonight.

"Ah! Batman, I didn't expect to see you so soon."

"Well you did suggest I stop by more often. I've brought you a student if you feel up to taking him on," Jason nearly dug his heels in on instinct when Batman pushed him forward, then reversed gears and stepped forward jutting his chin.

"I'm Jason Todd, nice to meet you," the almost tensing of surprise from Batman was well worth dragging up his old manners and parading them around.

The old woman smiled, and gestured inside, "Ah! I do believe we have plenty of room for boys with a sense of decency."

"Sorry to wake you Mrs. Gunn--" Batman said, standing there watching off his young charge. Jason gave him a wary smile, glancing up at Mrs. Gunn occasionally as she stood in front, an imposing force for a little old Aussie woman. Then again, to survive Australia and return she must've been tough as nails. He worried a little bit for his future.

"Faye Gunn is always open for a new enrollee, Batman. He can live right here on the premises. G'day, Batman--" she said, but Jason interrupted her before she could finish.

"See ya, Batman!" He was worried, blurting it out. He wanted to say goodbye, but he didn't want Batman to completely leave him. Hell no, he wanted to see him again, and this would be his onyl chance to say it. Even if he did have to try to be proper about it, not straight up ask for it, or anything. Maybe he'd catch it, he caught most of his other tricks.

Batman's cowled gaze fell on him and his eye slits thinned slightly, Jason recognized a fixed look when he saw one, "Learn something, Jason." He said with a rumble like thunder. Not stern, just... certain. Giving him not a command, but responsibility. Jason's jaw hardened and he nodded once, slightly as Mrs. Gunn turned away to lead him inside what was to be his new home for... years. He was ten, to go on and be his own man, he'd have to be 18. Eight years, he'd live in this house. Unless there were unforeseeable consequences that had him high tailing it out of dodge.

He shoulda figured something was wrong when she lit up a cigar before she started talking, a few of her students hemming him on all sides, "We've got a new pupil luvs. The Batman sent 'im... now who wants to snuff the little stoolie for old ma?"

Well. That unforeseeable consequence thing happened faster than he expected. Thanks Batman.

The shock lasted a minute before the usual bone weary, constantly harassed, muscle memory kicked in. He spread his legs wider for balance on the worn out bottoms of his converse, stretched his arms out, and hunkered down. If they wanted to hurt him, kill him, then he'd go down biting and punching. He marked them with nicknames while they each spoke up.

"Leave him to us. Ma- We'll handle his schoolin'!" Blondie, short cropped blonde hair, looked like a linebacker. He was the muscle, and not very bright by the look of him. He'd need a heavy hit.

"Yeah, we'll walk him over to the river for an in depth swimmin' lesson." That one was wearing a stupid red baseball cap that clashed with his nasty green pants. Back to his left and inching in already.

Fedora spoke up on his right, "We'll learn him how to hold his breath under water for an expensive period of time!" Too much talking really, let him get the lay of the land, and the way Blondie was holding back he was a little nervous, ready to let the other two take the first strikes. Well hey, far be it from him to stop them.

Jason twisted, putting blondie at his back and kicked as hard as he could while falling back on an elbow, catching hat in the stomach. It broke his swing, and he yelped, as fedora took his kick right dead in the breadbasket. Lucky, should wind him by the sound of the air escaping his lungs. That left Blondie, don't give him time to figure out his buddies twice Jason's side had just went down. He laced both his fingers together and took a nasty swing. Double hammer fist like those goofy old kung-fu movies, caught him in the face hard enough to knock him backwards a few paces. Glass jaw, he went down with a heavy thump and didn't get back up.

Gun made a shrill hissing noise of disappointment behind him, "Get him!" He gave a hard look and then flinched. More boys, lots more, came out of the kitchen. He was in the middle of a viper pit. Ma Gunn stepped to the side casually while they loaded after him, snagging the fedora kid by the ear roughly.

"Sorry Ma-- ouch!" the boy in the hat howled while six others dove on Jason from all sides. He swung, and twisted, but they got him around the waist, grabbed him around the neck. It was pretty much a foregone conclusion, even as he fought back, they were pinning him through sheer numbers.

She yanked on the boy's ear again, snarling mildly, "It isn't 'learn' him luv, it's 'teach' him. And it's an 'extensive' period of time..." Jason squirmed, as the weight of the other kids landed on him in turns. He was heading for daylight, struggling so he could haul himself from under the pile. Unfortunately, elbows into the ground pulling against the wrigging boys on top of him, he found himself at the old broad's feet.

Faye Gunn looked down on him, chewing on her cigar carefully with a smile spreading across her face, "... Spunky little bloke." It almost sounded thoughtful, and Jason lunged at his chance. THey dragged him to his feet, pinning his arms to either side and he jumped, and tore at them like a dog trying to get off a chain to yell at her.

"I ain't no stoolie!" He yelled proudly, sticking his chin up, looking defiant. Every inch the nasty street kid they seemed to have in numbers here, he could play this role fine, he always had, "And Batman's no friend of mine-- I stole his tires! He promised he wouldn't turn me over to the social workers if I came here!" Time to turn lemons into lemonade, his big score of the night was mythical enough maybe they'd take him. At least the bragging sounded big.

He stood there, puffing his chest out and glaring her down for a few seconds, before she swished her cigar through the air spreading fine ashes. She'd made a decision, "Find him a bunk, boys. Always room at Ma Gunn's for a promising pupil!"

His bed was shoved into a corner, sneering looks thrown at him as he shoved his meager belongings under a pillow on the bunk they picked for him. Nasty thin mattress, nothin' like the one he'd filched off the streets before the garbage truck came around. His was twice as thick and still had bounce to it, this one was run down flat but clean and mended. The blanket was some green army stuff, wool by the itchiness, but it wasn't worn down. In fact, none of the kids had more than a few tattered edges. Mrs. Gunn ran a ship that looked fit for any inspections that came walking along. Jay's new thin mattress wasn't anything any social worker would complain about. Not really.

His bunk mate was some red headed freckled kid with a gap in his front teeth and big ol' ears. Reminded him of the Mad magazines that he saw in newpaper stands all over the place. He smelled like pickles, and Jay found out that was because he always had a jar somewhere to munch on. In fact, the more Jay looked, the more he noticed the kids weren't exactly being given a strict watch. Poker on the beds, kiddyhood weapons like slingshots shoved into back pockets, at least a couple of them were smoking and that gave him a faint sense of relief. When he realized there were some cleverly stashed bottles of gin around the place though, well, that surprised him. Looked like the old broad let her kids get away with just about anything.

Great. Which meant there was a pecking order she wasn't going to mess with, and little inter-gangs set up. He was fresh meat. He'd have to fight for every last scrap of protection he could, let 'em know nobody, but nobody, messed with Jason Peter Todd!

\---

He was not stupid enough to go to sleep in his assigned bunk the first night. Look there were only so many times a kid could well and get the shit scared out of him, first night? That's when you meant business, that's when the kid knew that shit was not going to go right for them at all. That was a hope extinguisher. It was meant to teach you the facts of life, that no one was going to show up and suddenly save you, heroes didn't exist in hell, and you just had to deal with the monsters yourself.

Sure, they could wait, but that'd just give the victim the sense that bad times come and go. You wanted to bear down on them first thing, break their hope, make the good times seem like a reward not an inevitability. Jason knew that probably seemed pretty god damned cynical for a kid, but hey, he was at peace with the underbelly of the world and he wasn't gonna be caught unawares with some stupid rookie mistake. He didn't want to get trapped in something he'd seen happen over and over.

So he skipped the coming surprise party entirely. Like avoiding the cops you knew were going to arrive to a bust, or when the known skeevy johns showed up, and you suddenly had to go check how business was on another street because you didn't have the time for that shit. He wasn't going to play right into their hands like some dumb kid when there were so many other options in this place. Ma Gunn's was huge, like, huge. It was a fully realized boarding school and she must've dumped a pretty penny into making it over for the cameras. It was self contained, she didn't need to pull outside sources when she had a freebie labor force under her thumb either.

A big ass classroom, a laundry, kitchen, pantry, a garden on the roof, a gym, the dorms, then Ma Gunn's entire floor that functioned as a nicely appointed apartment. The brownstone had been all apartments at some time before the renovations. That meant the obvious boiler room too. He had arrived in the middle of the night, thanks to Batman's time schedule being absolutely nutters, so after lights out, the room was dark except the moonlight casting square bolts of it's illustrious fabric across the floor, and other mystical sounding sappy bullshit. It made it hard to see in the dark spots is what mattered, and Jason intended to take advantage of that shit.

He had this things gathered, I mean what idiot would unpack them in a new place with fucking bad guys everywhere right? He'd even snagged his appointed wool blanket. He had a plan, and it took maybe ten minutes to sneak out of the room past the none to subtle guarding teens. They were playing poker on the beds, and he managed to skitter right out the front door. He knew on the way up he'd seen somewhere comfortable to hide. They'd given him the grand tour, or well, the old lady had demanded they do and the slipshod 'this is the classroom' and 'this is the bathroom' had been enough.

Jason slipped into the classroom and looked straight up. Remodeled to look like a real one it had a false ceiling. Bless the old lady and he sense of theatricality. He climbed one of the cabinets at the back of the room, pushing up on the underside of one of the powdery old boards while holding his breath. They could still be fake tiles. He could still be totally fucked. The corner lifted, a yawning darkness, and he slithered up into the ceiling quick as a wink, dropping the panel back into place.

It was dark, no duh since it wasn't exactly a place people were expected to go. But as he sat there waiting, he realized he could see the glow from several vents around him. A small, contained space. It was a tight fit, and kinda botched together out of sight. Insulation was jammed into some of the spaces, others were cleaned out. He slipped a little further into the roofing, finding his footholds carefully. If he fell through and landed on some big galoots head the whole game would be up in flames.

Voices alerted him to trouble and he went rigid. Had they figured out where he was? Was he about to have to run or fight? He kinda wished he'd prepared for a proper fight, grabbed a weapon or something, but fuck it. This was a tight space. He'd leave 'em bleeding as long as he kept his back to the wall. That's when he smelled heat, and another careful shift revealed that there was a big warm metal thing in front of him.

Well that wasn't upsetting at all, why was there big warm things in his otherwise chilly ceiling was it fucking alive? He held his breath and realized he could hear the voices clearer, closer to the thing in the dark. Opening his eyes as wide as possible as if somehow he could absorb light directly into them and see better than the grey outlines he saw now, he slid his ear against it...

"Nuh Tommy, I got a--" the sudden rushing roar of sound made Jason stumble backwards, thankfully landing on the solid beam the thing was attached to, squeaking out of sheer surprise. He covered his mouth with both hands, about to panic because the big warm thing he couldn't see fucking roared when he touched it, when he realized... A heating vent. He'd just scared himself silly because he'd found the vent heating the boys room. Their voices were carrying down it, and...

He coulda punched something. That was so embarrassing.

It also however, gave him a wide beam, right up against a warm vent, where he could hear the kids come and go. That was a damned win in his book. He could see the grey outline of the bulky fiberglass installation was all around him, and after a bit of hesitation because it was fiberglass and that shit itched and stung and cut, he looted some. The paper wrapping faced up, and with the blanket over top of it, he had a pretty soft cushion, so long as he didn't squirm around too much and get glass shards in his ass.

He curled up right there, tired as hell and hugging his backpack. All the stress, fear, and exercise of the day were catching up with him. Stealing tires, multiple trips, caught by Batman, fighting Batman, having to make more trips, fighting off a group of boys, hunting a place to hide... Yeah, Jason had good reason to rest. Still wired, he didn't even notice when the Sandman slipped into his tiny little space, spreading sand in his eyes so he could rest for once. Safe, deeply hidden, and cozy warm.


End file.
